off to a world we call our own

[notapaladin]

Flowers bloom bright in the imperial gardens, and Acatl is in love with his Emperor.

-

The air is filled with flowers, and Acatl is in love.

If the Revered Speaker wishes a section of his garden set aside for his private use, where he can go and not be disturbed unless the world is ending, it will be done. And if he then wishes to take his High Priest for the Dead by the hand and tug him along the paths, laughing, to this spot...well, his High Priest isn’t going to tell him no. Teomitl is sprawled next to him on a cloak spread out over the still-damp grass, wearing only his loincloth and a slow, sweet smile. He plucks another cut chunk of cactus pear from its golden bowl, pops it into his mouth, chews, and swallows. As he licks his fingers clean, he asks, “Mm. More fruit?”

Acatl shakes his head, feeling the faint rattle of jade braided into his hair. Climbing vines dangle their fragrant flowers over where they lay, a riot of pinks and reds and pale golds; butterflies as orange as the cloak Teomitl had worn when they first met flutter idly around them. He barely notices them; he’s drawn irresistibly to the sight of that red tongue and those wet fingers. He has had his fill of fruit. Something warmer coils in the pit of his stomach now.

Teomitl must see it in his eyes; he kisses him, almost sticky-sweet, and trails his fingers along his bent knee. His voice is still that low, affectionate rumble. “Then...something else? No one will hear us here.”

“You are incorrigible,” he breathes, but he feels himself smiling. There are advantages to being profoundly in love with one’s Emperor, after all. This is a very private bower where they’ve spent their morning, and there are many ways two men reasonably in their prime can take advantage of it.

And Teomitl’s fingers are creeping up his thigh in a way that says he knows just how they can do that. “But you love it.”

“I do.” He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t; would never have taken Teomitl into his arms, into his heart, if the man’s spirit hadn’t drawn him in like the tide. When he thinks about how much Teomitl’s grown to mean to him—safety, warmth, trust, the boundaries standing firm as the walls of the Sacred Precinct—he has to actually close his eyes for a moment to contain his own feelings. My Emperor, he thinks, and then My beloved.

Then Teomitl kisses him again, slow and deep, and he’s not thinking anything at all. His hands slide into Teomitl’s thick, short hair, today left free of quetzal ornaments and even his crown, and Teomitl sighs against his mouth. His lips part at that sigh, opening for Teomitl’s questing tongue. It’s still gentle, still soft, but there’s a first thread of heat licking up his spine. Teomitl’s hand has wound up on his bare stomach. It’s not doing anything—just resting there—but he feels it like a brand.

“Mmmhm...” They don’t really need to pull away to breathe, not with as much practice kissing as they’ve had, so Teomitl’s hum of pleasure reverberates through them both. Acatl wants to hear it again; emboldened, he slides his hand slowly down Teomitl’s spine in the sort of broad flat caress that will always pull a shudder out of him. He’s not disappointed; Teomitl makes that sweet noise again, trembling, and the hand on Acatl’s stomach shifts downwards.

It’s his turn to moan then, toes curling. Want pulses in him like a second heart, and this time when Teomitl presses against him in an effortless slide—a leg over his hip, a hand gently tugging his hair, the solid muscle of his body against his—he lets himself be borne to the ground. The spread-out cloak under him is soft as a dream, even with the occasional prickle of grass under it. He notices it only in passing, too busy with the newfound opportunities this position grants him for touching Teomitl as they kiss. His lover’s body deserves to be fully appreciated.

Then Teomitl’s mouth leaves his for his throat, and he’s startled from his leisurely mapping of back muscles with a gasp. “Ah—Teo...”

Teomitl hums wickedly and nips at that spot again. It’s so light, barely even more than a suggestion of teeth, but it sends a hard jolt of desire through him. And with the way Teomitl’s half-straddling him, he can’t have failed to notice. “You don’t have to worry about making noise here.” There’s that quick, bright grin, the one that always makes him smile.

It makes him smile now, as a matter of fact, even as he murmurs back, “You’ll have us scare all the birds, love, including those pretty grackles of yours.” Those had been a surprise; Teomitl had brought back cages of them from the far south, saying in public that their feathers would be lovely for decoration and in private that they’d reminded him of the shine of Acatl’s hair. It had made him blush for a week, but by now he’s grown rather fond of their song.

Teomitl tilts his head as he considers this, and then he moves in a single fluid roll to sit astride his hips. Their loincloths suddenly seem to be far too much fabric. Acatl’s pulse pounds as his lover kisses him again, this time with hands in his hair in a way that tugs deliciously on his braids. When Teomitl draws back, his lips are red. “Stop my mouth, then,” he whispers.

He does. But licking into Teomitl’s mouth and running a hand down his spine doesn’t make him silent; each touch brings an appreciative gasp or a groan or a slow, rough grind of their erections against each other that has his hips bucking automatically and pulls an answering groan from his own throat. His nails dig into Teomitl’s hips a little harder than he’d meant to, but that too has Teomitl twitching in pleasure. His cock throbs, and the slowly building heat of his own lust makes his breath catch in his throat. He’d been lazy and content before. He still is, but now...oh, now he wants.

“Teomitl,” he whispers, rolling his hips and feeling Teomitl shudder in response. I want you, he thinks, and the only reason he doesn’t say it is that frankly he wants Teomitl in so many different ways that it’s hard sometimes for him to narrow down specifics.

Luckily, Teomitl has never been at a loss when it comes to expressing his desires. He always has ideas, and they’re always at least worth considering. Still, when he says, “I want to ride you,” Acatl has to suck in a hard breath.

They do it all the time, of course, but it’s different here with the perfume of the flowers around him, with the early afternoon sunlight striking fire where it touches their skin. Just thinking about it makes his cock jump. “Gods, yes.” His mouth is dry, but he doesn’t reach for more fruit to refresh himself. He can’t, not with the look in Teomitl’s eyes.

His lover is grinning at him as he undoes their loincloths, batting Acatl’s hands away when he tries to help. “I came prepared.”

“You always do.” He is bare and unashamed of it; shame has been pushed back into a very far, dark corner of his mind by the enormity of just how much he desires Teomitl. His lover’s battle scars gleam in the sun, and he reaches out to trace one curving over his thigh just to watch him draw in a breath.

“Because you taught me well.” Teomitl twists like an ahuitzotl to snatch up the jar of oil they’ve taken with them; it’s something to be savored, as is the light in his eyes when that jar is unsealed.

Acatl’s cock is certainly very interested in it. He props himself up on one elbow, reaching for the jar. “Let me—”

“No.” Teomitl pushes him back down gently. It’s not an order, but the heat in his gaze makes it a somewhat firmer suggestion than Acatl was expecting. He likes it. “You watch.”

He watches. He watches as Teomitl arches his back and reaches behind himself, legs spread a little wider, and slides one slick finger in. Watches as Teomitl’s breath hitches, as he lets it out in a breathy little moan. Watches as he adds another finger with what seems to be an entirely involuntary bounce of his hips, thighs flexing as he stretches himself open. Watches as he shudders, holds himself open, and clenches on a third finger with a sound almost like pain, pumping them in and out of himself once, twice—

And then he cracks. “Teomitl, please.” He’s so hard it almost hurts, so hard that when he slicks himself up he has to bite his lip and think of other things in a way he hasn’t had to since he was fifteen—or, to be honest, since the last time Teomitl did this for him, which amount to much the same thing when it comes to his self-control. His lover makes him feel young and alive again, but sometimes that has consequences.

Teomitl has mercy on him; the edge to his smile says he couldn’t have held out much longer either. “Mmm, alright.”

He lowers himself down slowly, and Acatl is engulfed in tight, perfect heat. For a moment he has to close his eyes, nearly overwhelmed by it, but then Teomitl rolls his hips with a quiet gasp and he opens them again because he can’t miss a second of this. “Duality,” he breathes, like the start of a prayer he doesn’t have words for.

Teomitl meets his gaze, face flushed and eyes hazy, and raises himself up again before dropping back down. It makes both of them shudder, and he rocks upwards in response. Teomitl’s voice is rough with his own hunger. “Look at me. Watch what you do to me.”

He sucks in a breath, ready to retort—it’s hardly as though he’s going to be looking anywhere else—but Teomitl tightens around him and what actually comes out is, “Oh.”

His lover grins at him, bright and sharp, and then he starts to move in earnest. All Acatl can do is lie there and take it, moving with each downward stroke of Teomitl’s hips, but that’s no hardship.

He has the best view in the world. Teomitl astride him, sunlight sinking into his skin and haloing his hair—Teomitl braced with one hand on his stomach, back arching with a hard buck of his hips when Acatl grabs for his thighs—Teomitl, already hard and leaking, letting his mouth fall open in a silent groan when they establish a proper rhythm. There are flowers caught in his hair, fluttering down from the vines; they brush against their bodies, too, and that might tickle except that he’s not really registering sensation beyond the slick heat of being surrounded by his lover’s body.

“Gods, Acatl...” It comes out breathy, half-swallowed by his own pleasure, and it nearly drives Acatl mad. Teomitl looks almost unreal as he moves atop him, all soft gilded edges, and then he does something with some inner muscles that makes him jolt in response.

More, he thinks dizzily. He wants more of that. He bucks his hips, raising himself up on his elbows—yes, that’s better, he has a bit more leverage to fuck into him like that. “Teomitl,” he pants.

Then Teomitl rolls his hips down, and he thrusts up, and that must be the perfect angle because Teomitl cries out and clenches down and gods he is so tight; Acatl’s helpless to do anything but keep driving up into that heat, feeling him tense and ripple around him and cry out again with each thrust. “Ah—Acatl!”

“Duality, Teomitl.” He won’t last too much longer. Teomitl is just too much wrapped around him, and his knuckles whiten where they’ve grabbed fistfuls of the cloak under them. Not yet. No, not yet, I have to see him. A little more, and Teomitl’s sure to come before him—he can feel it in the tension of his muscles, hear it in the pitch of his voice. He thinks, with a certain satisfaction, good. All he has to do is rock just a little harder, and Teomitl will do the rest.

His lover is working quite hard towards that goal himself, after all. Muscles flex in his core as he moves, throwing himself down like it’s all he’s ever wanted to do in his life. Acatl’s seen that singleminded intensity in other areas, but he likes it best like this, with Teomitl’s eyes unfocused and his voice cracking as he fucks himself towards climax on Acatl’s cock. When it hits it’s spectacular, a full-body seize and a cry that he has to bite his lip to have any hope of stifling. “Nngh...!”

It’s enough and more than enough. His own orgasm hits him like a tidal wave, a brief moment of yes before he’s pulled under by crashing sensation. Teomitl is still rippling around him, spilling over both their stomachs, and the sheer shock of it makes the edges of his vision blur as he comes, lightning skittering over his skin. He won’t swear he can’t feel the aftershocks down to his toes.

For a long moment they’re quiet, just catching their breath, and then Teomitl huffs and lifts himself off Acatl’s softening cock with a wriggle that makes him twitch in pleasure even as it makes his lover shudder appreciatively. “Mmmngh...”

“Mm,” he agrees. He needs time to recover, but looking at Teomitl and the mess they’ve made together makes him wish heartily that he didn’t. Then again, his beloved does have a warrior’s stamina, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’s wrung a bit more pleasure out of Acatl’s spent and very willing body...

Teomitl seems to have other ideas, and is cleaning them both up with gentle hands, a smile, and as little movement as possible. Ah well, he supposes this is a day to be lazy.

When they’re something like presentable again—though there’s sure to be grass and flowers in his hair, and neither of them quite feel like getting dressed yet—Acatl nudges their meal a little closer. “Have some more fruit.”

Teomitl does. Then his hand hovers over the bowl, and Acatl can actually see him debating whether or not to press another piece to Acatl’s lips. The thought makes him smile. You always have loved spoiling me, haven’t you? He takes the choice out of Teomitl’s hands by snatching up his own bit of fruit, licking his fingers in a way he knows will draw Teomitl’s eyes.

“Now who’s incorrigible?” Teomitl’s noticed, and his eyes are warm as he settles onto his side next to him.

“Terrible influence,” he murmurs fondly, and sprawls back on the mat. The sun is warm on his skin, and Teomitl is warmer yet when his head comes to rest on his shoulder. He can feel his eyes sliding closed of their own accord; a nap might be nice, but he’s not truly that tired yet.

Without thinking about it, he starts to sing under his breath. “And like fragrant frangipani, we lie entwined in this bed...”

“Acatl,” Teomitl says in a distinct tone of mortification.

He wedges one eye open and can’t bite back his grin at the faint flush spreading across Teomitl’s cheekbones. “What?”

“Going to have that song banned,” he mutters, but then Acatl kisses him and he starts to smile again. Good. He should smile all the time.

He sinks a hand into Teomitl’s hair, smoothing it down and dislodging a few petals. They’re so close together that he can feel his lover’s heartbeat like his own. “You are well-loved.”

“Mmm, I am.” Teomitl presses a kiss to the side of his mouth. “And so are you.”

He doesn’t think about Teomitl being the Revered Speaker. He doesn’t think about the boundaries or the Fifth World or his temple or any of the other things that usually consume his waking moments. He only strokes Teomitl’s hair and thinks very slowly to himself, Duality, I am the luckiest man in the Empire. Did you know this would happen, Ceyaxochitl, when you sent him to me?

He thinks she probably would have approved if she had.

Teomitl kisses him again, and this time when his eyes close he keeps them shut. Above them, two birds call to each other; farther away, he can hear the trickling water of an ornamental fountain. A faint breeze stirs his hair, carrying the scent of perfume with it.

His world is filled with flowers. He is in love.

Notes:

the song acatl's got stuck in his head is a real song! specifically ahuitzotl's cradlesong from the cantares mexicanos translated here by david bowles who is wonderful. teomitl is a little embarrassed by it.
and yes, ahuitzotl is also credited with introducing grackles to mexico.